


seize the moment (and stay in it)

by Kirjavi



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fireworks, Fourth of July, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 02:29:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7387003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirjavi/pseuds/Kirjavi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fourth of July celebrations are something none of them were really expecting. If anything, Alex would have thought that the day of celebration would be October 7th, the turning point of the war after Saratoga, or September 3rd, the day the war for independance officially ended, instead of the day the Declaration of Independance was signed. Although, the more he thinks about it, the more sense it makes. July 4th, 1776 was the day the United States truly became independant; freedom from Britain had ceased to be something dreamed of but never obtained and became instead a tangible idea that had spread like wildfire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	seize the moment (and stay in it)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the mandatory Fourth of July Hamilton fic everyone and their mother must be writing. Be warned: this is unbeta-ed, unedited, and written late at night.

The Fourth of July celebrations are something none of them were really expecting. If anything, Alex would have thought that the day of celebration would be October 7th, the turning point of the war after Saratoga, or September 3rd, the day the war for independance officially ended, instead of the day the Declaration of Independance was signed. Although, the more he thinks about it, the more sense it makes. July 4th, 1776 was the day the United States truly became independant; freedom from Britain had ceased to be something dreamed of but never obtained and became instead a tangible idea that had spread like wildfire.

(Of course, Jefferson insists that the celebrations are in honor of his death, like the arrogant prick he is. Which is a ridiculous idea--why would anyone celebrate a person’s death date over their birthday? And why would anyone celebrate _Jefferson’s_ birthday, for that matter?)

(At that point John pulls him away from a quickly-escalating argument and Madison quietly sighs into his book as both he and Jefferson begin ranting at each other. In that way, at least, things are like old times.)

They talk about it, he and John, as they lie awake together in the apartment they share with Hercules and Lafayette. What were the odds, the gods, that put them all in one spot? No holy book or scroll had told of reincarnation quite like this, a scooping-out of the soul and memories from one time period and transferred to another across time, across bodies.

Angelica, he’s found, thinks of it as her due, the opportunities she and her sisters were denied in the 1700s finally open to them. Eliza believes that this is a gift, another reason to look around and be alive. And Burr, poor Burr, had told him one drunken night that he thinks that this second time around is his chance to make things right again, to stop waiting for things to happen and make the right choices.

Alex doesn’t himself know what he thinks about this whole reincarnation business. It’s odd, sometimes, waking up with dark hair and eyes instead of the fiery hair and freckles he’d lived with for nearly half a century. But he can’t deny that the technology is astounding, to say the least (he has seen people being brought back from the dead, and news travelling through time and space in a blink of an eye, and it is all he can do to stay on top of things sometimes) and the advances society has made amazes him, even though there’s still some ways to go.

And John? He’s still not quite sure of how John feels about living three centuries into the future. But when he saw John’s face light up when he learned that slavery was abolished, and the soft, infinitely happy look in his eyes when they passed two men kissing on the street outside Central Park, he knew that John would be fine.

(And if they both wake up to the other writhing in the sheets, reliving nightmares of old battles and the pain of hiding an aching, thorn-sharp love punishable by hanging, then.)

(Well.)

(They cope.)

(They hold each other tighter than they were ever allowed to, and they breathe, and they think about how lucky they are to be alive right now.)

Despite the obvious disorientation that comes with being abruptly transported ahead three hundred years, it is gratifying, to say the least, to see the people of the nation they’d made celebrating their sacrifices.

This celebration seems to manifest itself in a sudden explosion of America-themed merchandise, fireworks, and sudden chantings of “U-S-A, U-S-A” whenever anything moderately patriotic happens, and Alex would be lying if he says he doesn’t enjoy it, just a little bit.

The rest of them enjoy it just as much, if not more. One day, Lafayette comes home with armfuls of plastic shopping bags laden with paraphenalia that practically _screams_ America and spends the day putting up American flags, posters, and for some godforsaken reason none of them can fathom, obnoxiously, delightfully ostentatious streamers hanging on the walls and fluttering out the windows and doors.

(Seabury, skulking about in the streets, out of time and beliefs and home, once half-heartedly flipped off the red, white, and blue apartment and sneered up at it, only to see an enraged Frenchman throw open a window and threaten to beat the smirk off his face with a collector’s bald eagle plushie.)

For the actual Fourth of July celebrations, they decide to host a party. That seems to be a thing people do nowadays, although the modern idea of a party is far different from their balls and dances. Everyone ends up being invited, even Jefferson and Madison, much to Alex’s displeasure. He supposes that it is a good thing, anyhow, all of the reincarnated coming together in a celebration of what they all fought for.

(Even so,the fact that Lee, Seabury, and King George III turned down their invitations was probably for the best. Alex didn’t trust himself to not _accidently_ push them off the roof.)

Lafayette is on door duty as night falls, greeting guests with a handful of tiny, cheap American flags shoved into his bun. John and Alex are companionably watching a frozen pizza bake in the tiny oven in silence when they hear from the kitchen the most ungodly screech in the world and rush out.

Old habits die hard and by the time Alex’s brain caught up to his body he was about to brain the first president of the United States of America with a spatula.

Lafayette is bouncing giddily next to George Washington himself, looking as excited as a human being could possibly be, and Alex drops the spatula with a sharp metallic _clang_ and walks slowly towards them.

His Excellency looks different (they all do), but his air, the way he carries himself, is the same.

Alex lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and rushes into the other man’s arms. And when Washington asks him, voice gruff with emotion, “How’ve you been, son?”, for once, Alex doesn’t mind the term of endearment.

Next comes the Schuyler sisters, walking and talking as one, decked out in their respective, resplendent colors and looking as beautiful as ever. Angelica brings a bottle of wine that’s really far too expensive for a rooftop party and the declaration that since women can be as loud and obnoxious as they want in this time period, she was going to get shit-faced drunk and no one could tell her no. Eliza comes in with a smile like sunlight, clad in a delicate blue sundress and a basket of homemade muffins. And Peggy, sweet spitfire Peggy with her mane of curls and her biting wit, hugged Lafayette and stole one of his flags in the same breath, tucking it into her own hair and beaming like the sun.

Then comes Jefferson and Madison, the former dragging a hand through enviable curls and winking at Angelica and the latter rolling his eyes and hiding a smile as he sits down.

(They aren’t friends. They were never friends. But now, with the last rays of daylight gilding everything a soft gold and the good smells of pizza and muffins and wine in the air and John warm at his side, they could be.)

(They could be.)

Night falls, and their tiny apartment is filling up with old friends and enemies and for the time being, he can forget about the work he needs to do and the essays he needs to write. He sits with John and Hercules and Lafayette and the Schuyler sisters and the Southerners and eats crappy pizza with fine wine and smiles, smiles, smiles.

(Not all of them are here yet. Most of them have woken up, have regained their memories, but they were still waiting for a few of their circle to come back. Martha Washington. Theodosia Prevost. Maria Reynolds. Phillip Hamilton. But Alex has a feeling that they’re out there somewhere, their unrealized memories lying in wait ready to rise to the surface. And he would be ready when history repeats itself this time around. He will not throw away this shot.)

When the last traces of daybreak fade from the sky, Angelica checks her phone and announces that the fireworks should be starting in a few minutes and that they should head up to the roof with the bossiness only an older sister could have.

They have all risen to climb the stairs to the roof when a knock comes at the door. They look around at each other, confused, and Lafayette slowly goes to get the door.

“Alexander,” he says, his French accent slow and confused. “It’s Aaron Burr.”

The atmosphere in the room shifts ever-so-slightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Eliza frowning and Jefferson not-so-subtly rolling his eyes.

(While he and Burr had made their peace a long time ago, it seems that others did not.)

He feels John squeeze his hand next to him and Alex looks up, meeting the other man’s eyes. John smiles and nods towards Burr, and Alex smiles back.

He goes to Burr, who was looking a little lost behind the careful composure on his face, and reaches his hand out to him. After barely a heartbeat of hesitation, he takes it, and as a group, they climb the stairs that take them up to the roof.

The night air is cool this high up, but the concrete and slate of the rooftop is still warm from the summer sun. If Alex tilts his head back just right and focuses his eyes just so, he could see the first star of the evening.

When the fireworks begin, everyone jumps a bit. Eliza squeaks and next to him, John flinches, a shadow of the look he gets when he flashes back hiding behind his eyes.

Wordlessly, Alex takes his hand and holds it hard, grounding John, reminding him that he’s here, and he’s now, and he doesn’t need to be afraid of gunshots and cannonfire anymore.

John doesn’t say anything, but his fingers tighten around Alex’s and he leans his glorious mess of curls on his shoulder, and Alex figures that’s just as good.

They watch the fireworks. And watch. And watch.

Brilliant golden showers of sparks like falling stars, flowers of red and blue that bloom in the dark sky, shimmering fires of white blazing like flames in the night. . .

Someone is singing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ in a high, clear voice, and one by one, everyone joins in. Jefferson,his drawl audible even as he sings. Washington, voice tight as tears well in his eyes, the sisters harmonizing unconsciously as they sing. And John, his tenor strong and beautiful as he lifts his voice above the crackles of the fireworks to the listening sky.

The song of his people around him, the voices of his friends strong and alive, Alex tilts his face to the light of the fireworks and sings.

_We did it,_ he realizes when the song dies down, leaving one sweet, humming note quivering in the air. _We did it. We’re free. We won._

“Hey,” he whispers to John, curled up at his side. John sits up again, and his hair catches the glow of the fireworks above them. “We won.”

“We won,” John agrees, and tilts their foreheads together, skin to skin.

He tilts his head and John kisses him, and softly, sweetly, the world turns upside down.

**Author's Note:**

> Scream about Hamilton with me at a-flickering-soul.tumblr.com.


End file.
